Broken Glass
by MyAnnabelLee
Summary: The stress of becoming the head of a multi-million dollar corporation fresh out of high school, piled on with a sickness that threatens to kill him is getting to Harry Osborn in ways he didn't know was possible. He begins to lose his sanity, and with it, his relationship with those close to him.


Hazel eyes watched with a poorly hidden sadness as Harry Osborn threw glass after glass down against his kitchen floor. The dark circles under his eyes had come to look like bruises, and she could only guess the sort of pain that went on inside his chest. Inside his mind.

"Harry…" she spoke softly. He didn't respond. Only reached into his cupboard, grabbed another plate, and slammed it against the tile. It shattered loudly with its shards spraying out around his feet. The woman bit down onto her lip, her stare momentarily falling to the ground before looking back up to him. She stepped towards him, careful to avoid the sharp bits of broken glass. Harry had turned to reach for another dish, but before he had the chance she'd wrapped his body in her thin arms, pressing her face into his back. "Harry, it's okay," she whispered kindly. "Everything is going to be okay."

The young corporate head went rigid in her embrace. "No, Cecelia," he stated coldly in response. "Everything is _not_ okay. Nothing is going to be _okay_. Not if I can't get any of that – that – that _Spider's_ blood." He pushed out of her arms, knocking her a pace back and causing her to step onto a piece of shattered dishware. The woman gasped as she instinctively brought her leg up to her chest, wobbling on one foot as she held the other in her hand.

Harry eyed her with a tired ache and a guilt. Hopping forward on her one good foot, she placed a hand to the counter to steady herself before reaching for a drawer. Her teeth with clenched together and her hazel irises strained to stay clear. She knew there was a heat building in her glands that was begging her to cry, but she couldn't allow it. She would be too embarrassed and ashamed to look so weak in front of Harry.

But the man could see that she was hurting, and could see how desperately she tried to suppress it. He looked down at the floor for a moment, at the broken dinnerware shining beneath the dimmed lighting of his kitchen. The black business shoes on his feet had a shine of their own from being polished so often and so thoroughly. When he looked back up, he did so with resolve. As Cecelia rummaged through a draw in search of antiseptics and bandages, the chestnut headed male knocked her in the back of the knee and caught her back with his other arm. She gasped again, this time in shock as she was cradled in his arms.

He stepped surely over the glass, it crunching beneath the thick soles of his shoes as he made his way into the living room. "You don't have to do this…" she murmured, almost in embarrassment and definitely feeling slightly awkward.

"No, I don't," he agreed undoubtedly as he set her down onto the sofa. "But I wouldn't be much of a friend if I didn't help you when you were hurt, now would I?" For a small instant, she felt touched by his words, but then she noticed the cruelty in his eyes and realized his hidden meaning. He was talking about Peter, of course. This all must've been some inner need to prove his own goodness to make himself feel better for what he was asking.

[Name] turned her face away from him. The day had been so long, and all she wanted now was to go home. She was exhausted of it all. Exhausted of this drama and emotion and most of all, of Harry. The persona he put out for the public – even as bitter as it was – was so much different than the one she knew. He was just an angry child, still caught in the body of a man that was forced into heavy responsibilities far sooner than anyone his age should.

"I'm sorry, Celia," he spoke suddenly, recapturing the woman's attentions with his surprisingly soft and gentle voice. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, and saw that his head was turned down, sat on his knees in front of her. She felt a sorrow building behind her ribcage. "I'm sorry for hurting you." She had no idea of how deeply that apology ran for him, for how many things he was apologizing for. His calloused hands cupped her foot as he brought it gently into his lap.

"It's okay, Harry…" she consoled quietly, feeling her own awful mixture of guilt and sorrow growing heavier.

His shoulders began to tremble, but he made no noises and she could only watch on in complete sadness. With each small jump of his shoulders his head stooped lower, until at last it was leveled with her ankle. Turning his head slightly to the side, he kissed her skin gently. "I swear I love you, Celia," he hushed in such a way it seemed as though he was trying to convince himself more than anyone else. "I swear to _God_ I really do love you."

A tear broke free from the edge of the woman's reddened eyelid. "I know you do, Harry," she whispered back in an attempt to keep her voice from breaking. She knew that he loved her the best way he could, but he knew so little of love and had even less of it to give. It broke her heart into smaller pieces than all that glass in the kitchen, knowing that he could never be normal. She resented his father so much for leaving him this way.

After a moment of recomposing himself, Harry lifted his head up towards the ceiling and blinked twice, as if waiting for his tears to evaporate. Then carefully setting her foot down, he stood and went to the bathroom. A minute later he returned with white box of basic first aid. Sitting crisscrossed in front of her once more, he took her by the ankle that he'd kissed and began to tend to her wound. She could only watch him in silence.

When he was finished, she would kiss him goodnight, and leave. She wouldn't come back, and he wouldn't expect her to. _I swear I love you too, Harry,_ she thought in her head as she stared at him and wept silently. _But I can't keep stepping in your broken glass. _He stopped for a moment to look at her, as if having heard her thoughts. The expression on his face read nothing short of, _I know. I'm so sorry for hurting you._

She couldn't help but to wonder if that were true.


End file.
